The palm strike descended from the heavens.
The fierce wind raged wildly, Zhao Deshan's entire face resembling a shattered porcelain, countless bloodlines streaming across it. His lips quivered as if trying to speak, but no words escaped. His eyes became nothing but an overwhelming void of darkness.
How many disciples of Longevity Palace could escape?
With death looming, the only thought left in Zhao Deshan's mind was the character for "death." His eyes closed, a wave of endless desolation sweeping over him.
Hoo...
Suddenly, a gentle breeze passed through.
Its origin was unknown, emerging abruptly. It fluttered through the foliage hidden among the trees, brushed against the jagged edges of broken walls and ruins, swept across the weeds lining the mountain road. It was a wisp of pristine wind from heaven and earth, crossing thresholds and finally wiping away a droplet of blood from Zhao Deshan's face.
With a splash.
